


Adversity

by deskclutter



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deskclutter/pseuds/deskclutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These days, Fakir is focused much more on his writing career than his dance, but nevertheless, with Neko-sensei's injunction to practise ringing in his ears, he sketches the beginning positions.</p><p>Written for Fakiru Week 2014: Flower</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adversity

These days, Fakir is focused much more on his writing career than his dance, but nevertheless, with Neko-sensei's injunction to practise ringing in his ears, he sketches the beginning positions. Sometimes he hears them in cloudy mornings, sometimes on rainy afternoons, and sometimes late at night, past midnight -- whenever his writing runs itself into circles and each phrase he pens is insipid and tired, Fakir puts down his ink and he draws himself tall.

This is why, even though he has switched departments in school, he sometimes carries his work to the ballet section, where he has permission from his teachers new and old to sit quietly in the corner. There, he listens for a little while -- to the rhythm of teaching, to the opening bars of music, to the thump of leaping bodies when they meet the floor -- and then he slowly loses himself into his work. Even when the rooms are empty, they remind him of what it is to be disciplined, and sometimes that is all he needs to spin the next line onto the page.

So: the stage. It is early morning, the light still dim, but watery sunlight spills through the windows to throw light across the shining boards and to bounce off the faces of mirrors. The piano stands silent and at rest in the corner. Fakir is the only living thing in the room and the only thing about him that moves is his hand, guiding the nib of his pen in a steady skim across the clean sheet.

Like any skipping stone across the surface of a pond, his pen eventually slows and the pause he takes to consider each word before he sets it to paper grows longer and longer. In the time before he stops, someones else have let themselves into the room. They have begun to stretch and warm up, one pulling out the piano bench and the other at the barre. As usual, Fakir takes no notice of the music or people, who tentatively glance over at him so often, but taking confidence in his preoccupation, bring confidence to their own performances.

When he begins to tap his pen against the paper (in time, unconsciously, to the music), a shadow falls over him.

(The music stops abruptly. "Don't disturb him!!" the pianist hisses.)

He looks up to see it is Ahiru. Her eyes are kind and more awake than he would expect, given how early it is. "Oh, it's you," says Fakir.

She purses her lips and the kindness almost vanishes. "You left without me this morning!!"

"I was hit by inspiration," he says, lofty. "I wasn't about to wake you up just for that."

("'Just'!" scoffs the pianist, hanging his head in despair of his cousin.)

Ahiru laughs. "Hey, Fakir, are you still busy?"

"Does it look like I am?" he asks.

"Dance with me," says Ahiru. She lifts her arm to circle her hands in Princess Tutu's familiar plea, and winks. She extends her hand to him.

Careful and deliberate, Fakir puts aside his papers and places his hand in hers, and she draws him up. They step out, and Fakir's legs remember where to stand, and his arms snap into proper position. He remembers.

Eventually, the piano starts up again, matching time to their pas de deux perfectly. They flit across the floor in neat steps, cutting through the sunlight.

"You've improved," Fakir observes.

"Do you think so!?" Ahiru says, as she leans into his support around her waist.

Fakir looks over her form with a critical eye. "If you danced like this back then, I might have guessed you were Princess Tutu from the start," he says.

Ahiru laughs.

This is how the morning class catches them, as the morning sun limns light around their dance and the gentle notes of the piano float into the air.


End file.
